


Things Were Never Like This On Caprica

by Anais (phoebesmum)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (1978)
Genre: Bad Poetry, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:12:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/Anais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the deeds of <i>Galactica</i> and her crew are sung, but slightly off-key.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Were Never Like This On Caprica

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in _Battlestar Felgercarb #1_ (The Thirteenth Tribe), May 1983. Once upon a time, fanfic had to be typed up onto stencil and printed into zines. And sometimes a story overran a page by just a few lines and left lots of white space that had to be used up. This is what happened then.

> We're on board the _Galactica_ , searching through space  
> For a planet that we can call home  
> Where the Cylons, a tiresome mechanical race  
> We are hoping will leave us alone
> 
> Adama, our leader, commands this fair fleet  
> And he's led us through thick and through thin  
> He's a man who will never admit to defeat  
> "I can promise you, _next_ time we'll win!"
> 
> Colonel Tigh's the Commander's invaluable aide  
> There are some who'll describe him as 'deep'  
> Or 'a tower of strength', for he's never afraid  
> (What he actually is, is asleep)
> 
> There's Omega, who sits quietly thinking all day  
> It's quite seldom that he makes a sound  
> We assume that he's doing his job quite okay  
> Since we've never (so far) run aground
> 
> Corporal Rigel lives all of her life in a dream:  
> "Launch patrol!" every five or ten centons  
> It's enough to make strong men break down, cry, or scream,  
> Or use words I don't think I should mention
> 
> Young Athena's a vital part of the bridge crew  
> Though she isn't too happy, I fear  
> "I'm a pilot! Oh, let me fly, please, Daddy, do!"  
> "No! Athena, you're needed right here!"
> 
> Dear, sweet Captain Apollo's a hero, it's true  
> Tall, dark, handsome, as brave as can be  
> His good points are many, his failings are few  
> \- Come to think, he sounds just right for me …
> 
> I could go on all day about Captain Apollo  
> But it's so hard to think of a rhyme  
> There are 'hollow' and 'wallow' and (cheating) 'tomorrow'  
> That's the lot. So I won't waste my time
> 
> His friend Starbuck's another who serves with the fleet  
> He's a man of great prowess and fame  
> At pyramid, he isn't easy to beat  
> It's his second-most favourite game
> 
> His number one pastime, as we all know well  
> Is pursuing the ladies – they thrill him  
> But he never dares catch them. If they kiss and tell  
> Cassiopeia surely will kill him
> 
> Now, Cassie's a medtech; the saving of life  
> Is the whole of her humble ambition  
> (Unless Starbuck should offer to make her his wife  
> Then her patients can go to perdition)
> 
> Good ol' Boomer's another bold hero we know  
> From amongst the _Galactica_ crew  
>  He finds being a warrior is really quite slow  
> 'Cos he never has nothing to do
> 
> When there's work to be done then it's "Starbuck! Apollo!"  
> The third choice is Boomer, at best  
> And with those two as leaders, he just has to follow  
> Or stay home and sulk, like the rest
> 
> There are female-type warriors too. I'm afraid  
> Lovely Sheba's the foremost of these  
> But it's no use you looking for _her_ in a raid  
>  She'll be washing her hair, if you please
> 
> She's Commander Cain's daughter – Adama's old friend  
> So we put up with her for his sake  
> But she's so wet – she's really the absolute end  
> What she most need's a really good shake
> 
> Now, the warriors' habits are strange to relate  
> Sergeant Jolly likes eating, that's all  
> While Giles stands on boxes, or even on crates  
> 'Cos his buddy is Greenbean, who's tall
> 
> And what Greenbean likes doing is harder to guess  
> We don't see him too often round here  
> But he's good at sneak raids on the Officers' Mess  
> And supplying his comrades with beer
> 
> In the women's wing things aren't so very much better  
> (So we're led to believe from the tales)  
> Dietra works hard and studies, 'cos she's a go-getter  
> While Brie just sits filing her nails
> 
> There must _be_ other pilots – we see some around  
>  But we don't know their names or their history  
> They come and they go, but they don't make a sound  
> Who they are, where they come from's a mystery
> 
> Then there's Boxey, our brave Captain's dear little son  
> (No, I know he's not married. Don't worry  
> When the Cylons had got the whole fleet on the run  
> Poor Apollo got Sealed in a hurry
> 
> Then Serina got killed; he got stuck with the brat  
> Though myself, I'd've told him he'd had it)  
> Okay, Boxey's not bad, for a spoilt little rat  
> But he has this mechanical daggit
> 
> Yes, mechanical daggit – you heard what I said  
> Which is fondly (or not) known as Muffit  
> It was made by Doc Wilker, who's off of his head  
> And I think I'd have told him to stuff it!
> 
> Doctor Salik's the man who keeps all of us sound  
> In our bodies as well as our minds  
> … maybe I should have put that the other way round?  
> Either way, he is doing just fine!
> 
> No, he's not, really. He's at a loss what to do  
> Half the fleet's on the way to a breakdown  
> Which is hardly surprising, with all we've been through  
> But he says we'll be fine when we shake down
> 
> Is there anyone I haven't mentioned to date?  
> Yes! The Cylons – I knew that I'd missed them  
> Well, they always miss _us_ – their aim's real second-rate  
>  It's an inherent flaw in the system
> 
> They just cannot shoot straight, not for cubits nor love  
> ('Cos their eyes shift about, so no wonder)  
> I guess they were designed with some help from above  
> Or by now they'd have blown us asunder
> 
> Yes, they did awful well at the Treaty, it's true  
> But they cheated – besides, they'd assistance  
> If it wasn't for Baltar (and Proteus, too)  
> We'd have put up a better resistance
> 
> Baltar's still around now, but we won't mention him  
> He's locked safely away, dirty gridrat  
> He betrayed his own kind – unforgivable sin!  
> I still can't understand why he did that
> 
> While we're dealing with matters unpleasant, it's time  
> That the Council of Twelve got a mention  
> They keep issuing edicts to keep us in line  
> But we seldom pay any attention
> 
> We're in search, as I guess you all realise by now  
> Of a bright, shining planet called 'Earth'  
> Where our brothers and sisters – we lost them somehow –  
> Live in peace and contentment and mirth
> 
> Leastways, that's what Adama says, and he should know  
> He's the oldest and wisest by far  
> He just says "We go that way!" – and off we all go  
> On a quest for a mythical star
> 
> The Commander seems certain we'll get there some day  
> Despite all of our enemies' snares  
> Who can tell what adventures may lie in our way?  
> And I ask you, quite frankly – who cares?


End file.
